


Shots

by SixStepsAway



Category: The Shannara Chronicles (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bank Robbery, F/F, F/M, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 16:50:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixStepsAway/pseuds/SixStepsAway
Summary: In which Eretria is a bank robber, recruits Wil as a lookout and they find and capture a wild Amberle, and Eretria falls for them both. Which they’re okay with, really. It could be a worse fate.





	Shots

Her friends call her Shot, because just like a shot of your favourite drink, once you pick her up she’s already gone. 

Or, maybe that’s just what she calls herself. She doesn’t have any friends, after all. 

Her father calls her Eretria and she traces the lines on a map she’ll never get to explore, finding the town marked Eretria in the south of Greece, wondering what it’s like. 

She imagines it’s cold, like her. 

She pulls a mask onto her face, raises a gun they used to tease was bigger than her (not anymore. Not after she put a bullet in that one guy’s foot for the trouble. She hasn’t seen him since, actually) and she points it. “Hands in the air, this is a robbery!” 

Their getaway driver is old, she notes, when she spares him a cursory look as she throws bags into the van. He’s probably reduced to driving the car because he can’t run anymore. She’ll never be like him. 

She’ll probably die first. 

That’s her hope, anyway. She’s been a survivor since the day she was born, but she won’t go out like him – an old criminal who doesn’t have strength left for his heists but can’t stop running. 

She’ll never be that. 

They need a new lookout, she doesn’t ask what happened to their last one – she doesn’t care. The only ones who tend to stick around are her father and Zora and even she’s on a coinflip. She spends as much time away as she does with them and that’s always been fine by Eretria. She’s fun when she’s around, but it’s almost more fun when she’s gone. 

She’s possessive. Eretria doesn’t get to play around when she’s around. 

She leans on the bar, sips a drink that’s half as strong as she can handle and cases the bar looking for anyone she can pick out, someone to be their lookout for a small job coming up. The thought passes through her mind that whoever she recruits might not make the night, that when the sun comes up they might be lying in a pool of their own blood. 

“Get out before it’s you drowning in red,” Zora had warned and she’d believed it to be goodbye, but the month after that she’d been back. “Can’t quit the high,” she’d said. “You know how it is?” 

Truth was, she didn’t know how it was, not at all. She wasn’t there by choice. 

She picks him out of a crowd, she selects him from afar. His sleeves are frayed from wear not for fashion and his hair is long, brushing the nape of his neck even with a hat pulled on. He’s poor and he’s always hiding, but more than that he’s hypervigilant. She watches as every time he moves he checks his surroundings, like he’s waiting to be hit. 

He probably is. 

And yet when someone buys him a drink, he swallows it down. 

Vigilant but naïve, a perfect mark. 

She slides into the stool next to his to accompany his drink and he nearly chokes when he sees her. She smiles and it’s genuine. She touches his hair and compliments his eyes. 

He takes her home.

She browses his belongings while he’s in the bathroom disposing of the used condom and – the chain flushes and she returns to the bed to wait – using the facilities. 

They tangle up in the sheets and talk and she pries him open, using his nativity and the interested sparkle of her dark eyes as a crowbar. She bumps cold her feet against him, hooks her ankles around his and uses the leverage to roll on top of him. 

She sits on his hips and produces the papers she’d found. 

“Where’d you get that?” He grabs at them and she deflects with a laugh. 

“Oh, I looked around while you were busy,” she says and holds it out of reach, humming as she reads out the message. “Dear Mister Ohmsford,” she reads in a haughty tone. He groans, drags a pillow over his face. “We are  _extremely_  sorry to inform you that the application for scholarship of your medical degree at the University of—” She drops to a southern brogue, just poor enough to make him laugh into the pillow. “—Alabama School of Medicine has been rejected by our Scholarship Selection Committee.” She pulls the pillow from his face. “So you’re a  _doctor_.”

“Apparently,” he says, snatching the paper from her hands and tossing it like it’s scrap, “I am not!” He grabs her by the hips, flips them over and lands on top, descending for a kiss which she dodges, putting the flats of her fingers over his lips but wrapping her bare legs around his to hold him in place. 

“How much was it?” she asks and when he looks at her in confusion she slaps him hard on the backside once, eliciting a yip, and says, “The  _scholarship_.” 

“I don’t know,” he says in an attempt to wave it off. When she fixes him with a stern look he sighs. “Enough for the first year of tuition at least.” 

“Which is?” she prompts. 

“I-I don’t know,” he says. “Fifty or sixty-odd thousand, you know.” Another stern look and she watches his defences just  _crumble_  before her gaze. “Fifty-seven thousand six hundred and fifty three.” He sighs. “Give or take.” 

He’s like a puppy, she decides, but the kind you screw rather than bringing home from the pound to feed and snuggle. He’s clearly spent a long time staring at the tuition fees to remember the numbers, she doubts he has an eidetic memory. 

“Can I kiss you again yet?” he says. 

“I could earn that in a night,” she says, reaching for where the paper fell and holding it up, waving it like a flag. 

He let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, so you’re a  _movie star_.” 

“Greta Garbo, baby,” she purrs and he tries to kiss her again. She covers his mouth. “I’m no movie star, though they might make one about me one day.” 

He eyes her up. “High class escort?” he says. “Because I don’t have any money.” 

She glances around his dingy apartment, wonders who he shares it with, and looks back at him. “Damn,” she drawls, “I sure know how to pick ‘em.” 

He manages to look mock-offended for a moment. “So what then?” he says. 

She looks him over, long and slow, at his naked body sprawled atop hers. “You’re not an undercover cop or something, are you?” 

“Well, if I was I’d be a  _terrible_  one,” he says, and she takes a moment to laugh with him, enjoying a moment of mirth. 

She could still bail, she tells herself. She doesn’t have to take him to her father, she doesn’t have to pull him into a life he’ll never really be free of. She could walk away, be gone like a shot. 

She doesn’t. 

“Ever thought of robbing a bank?” 

He doesn’t take her seriously at first, laughing at her first three attempts to convince him it’s true, and then he does. 

He’s off her like a flash, swinging his legs off the bed and gathering covers into his lap, clearing his throat a few times to shift the nerves that have sprouted there. “You—You’re a—” 

“Bank robber.” Four times. 

“You’re a murderer?” he says. 

She feels offense rise, but it makes sense. “No,” she says. “I’ve never killed someone.” 

“I find that very hard to believe,” he says, like he hasn’t found all of this hard to believe. 

“I can’t prove it to you,” she says, “but I don’t have a reason to lie.” She shifts down the bed towards him and to his credit he doesn’t shy from her. She finds her phone in her pants where she left them and turns it over in her palm. “Let me prove my other claim.” 

He looks at her and that seems to be an agreement, so she thumbs her phone open and opens her bank account, one of the many she has locked away safe and sound. She turns it over to show him and his eyes widen at the numbers. “If you have that much,” he says, “why can’t you just be my scholarship? I’ll pay you back in full when I’m a doctor.” 

“Doesn’t work that way,” she says. “It’s dirty money.”

“Then why do you do it?” he says. “If you can’t  _spend_  the money.” 

“For the high,” rolls from her lips uninvited. “Ever been high?” 

He meets her eyes and shakes his head. 

She shrugs, lays back on her elbows and displays her body to him like an invitation. “Feels a lot like taking a stranger home.” He drags his gaze over her and she knows the moment she won. “If you can’t be a doctor, why not try a new profession? One that’ll pay for medical school three times over in a few years.” 

“Thought you said you made that much in a night?” he says, but he licks his lips. She isn’t sure if it’s at her breasts or her offer (maybe both). 

“Money takes time to launder,” she says. She props her body up a little further and looks him over this time. “Plus, it’d be a little silly to drop the haul of a bank robbery the day after you steal it, don’t you think?” 

“I’ve never hurt anyone,” he says. 

“You wouldn’t have to.” She sits up all the way, drops her hands to her lap and meets his eyes, her own serious now. “You’d be the lookout. You’d have a weapon but you wouldn’t have to use it. You’d just follow my lead.” 

“Your group... they’re good?” he says, studying her face like he’s searching for the answers to the questions of the universe. She wishes she could give them to him. 

“The best,” she assures him anyway. 

He licks his lips a few times, tucks his hair behind one ear and she desperately wants to kiss it. “And what do you do?” 

Her eyebrow raises, her eyes sparkle. She lets a smirk play over her lips. “Oh, honey,” she purrs, leaning towards him, “I’m the one that busts the vault.” 

His eyes darken and she’s won. 

*** 

If anyone thinks he’s not cut out for this life, they don’t say anything. 

She leads the way as always. “Are you the human shield or the leader?” Blondie asks and she isn’t sure of the answer so she doesn’t reply. Their masks are already on. 

“Just follow the script,” she says and fires a warning shot that brings everyone’s attention on to her. “This is a robbery! Hands in the air!” 

They’ve been over the plan. For every time Cephalo has told him something she’s told him twice more. She’s not sure why she’s invested in his life continuing beyond this night, but she is. 

The second the gunshot rings out, she sees him freeze. “Position!” she hisses at him and he scampers, like the puppy she already thought he was, and tucks himself to keep an eye on the surroundings. 

The group spreads out – Cephalo taking the lead now, of course – and she follows, casing the place as quick as she can. 

The drill is this: find the vault, find the money, find the safety deposit boxes. Open the door to the boxes first, leave someone else to grab those, then go for the vault. 

Blondie stays outside all the doors and covers her, although if they get caught he’ll be the first to bolt, following a yell from Cephalo. 

It’s happened before. He’s never been afraid to leave her to die. 

She leaves Zora to the boxes and whistles for Blondie. He follows her to the vault. “So uh,” he says, “how do we get into this?” 

She pulls her bag from her back, retrieves small explosives. “This is a Marksman 7200,” she says, “only way in is explosives. You place them just right and—” She mimes an explosion. He stares at her. 

“Isn’t that dangerous?!” 

“Says the guy wearing a clown mask in a bank,” she says and starts placing the explosives. 

He stays quiet the whole time, one eye on her and the other on the bank. If there are alarms going off, she doesn’t know about it and it calms her, just a little. Cephalo is with the hostages, that doesn’t calm her at all. 

She busts the vault open with little in the way of ceremony, but Blondie still lets out a whistle and hisses, “That was  _cool_ ,” when the smoke clears. 

She’s surprised, but she keeps her head down and calls for the others to collect the money. 

And that’s when the game changes. 

“Rover!” Cephalo bellows. Eretria snaps her head up. They don’t use identifiers unless they have to, and that means something is really,  _really_  wrong. 

“Rover?” Blondie hisses. She pushes past him, away from the sound of bags filling with money. 

“What is it?” she snaps at Cephalo, and then she freezes in place. 

He’s holding a woman in his grip, tall and slender with dark hair to her shoulders and large glasses slipping down her nose. Her pencil dress keeps her covered, but leaves little to the imagination, and it’s riding up her thighs. Eretria’s sharp eyes snap to the view and she storms forwards. “What the hell did you do to her?” 

“Re _lax_ ,” Cephalo drawls and drops the woman with little ceremony. She lets out a cry and Eretria catches her. “I didn’t touch her yet.” 

The woman – no, she’s barely older than a girl, Eretria’s age if ever a day – sobs in confusion and turns her head. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with!” 

“On the  _contrary_ ,” Cephalo says. “I do.” He holds up a feminine wallet. “We found her out there. Take a look, Blondie. See if you can carry any weight at all.” 

Blondie takes the wallet while Eretria tugs the skirt down the woman’s legs, covering her up. The woman frowns at her in confusion, then looks back at Cephalo and Blondie. 

“Amberle Elessedil,” he says. His nose wrinkles up. “Elessedil? Aren’t they practically royalty?” 

“Mhm, and with royalty comes  _money_ ,” Cephalo says. 

The woman – Amberle – drops her gaze, suddenly aware of the predicament she finds herself in and Eretria growls at Cephalo. 

“What the hell? We aren’t kidnappers,” she snaps. 

“No, we’re robbers, thieves and murders,” he says. 

“Speak for yourself,” she snarls. 

“You’ll get your boots wet eventually.” He steps towards her and she instinctively shies away. If Blondie notices, he doesn’t say anything. “Put her in the van with the haul. If she gets away? I’ll know who to blame.” 

Eretria cuts her gaze across to Blondie, who’s looking as uncomfortable as she feels, then nods, getting to her feet and dragging Amberle with her. She’s bound lightly, wrists locked at the small of her back with a cable tie, and any fight she attempts is quickly shut down. 

“Are you gonna do something about this?” Blondie hisses as they escort Amberle like produce to the van. 

Eretria fights down the fear in her chest. “No.” 

*** 

It was a lie, of course, but she’s always been one to manage expectations. 

Blondie rides up front, elbow hanging out of the window and a glare set on his face. They’ve swapped vans twice since the heist and Amberle’s spent the whole time transferred from back to back, Eretria’s sleeve wrapped haphazardly around her eyes as a makeshift blindfold. 

“We aren’t kidnappers,” she keeps repeating, she keeps saying it every time they move Amberle again. “Where are we even going to keep her?!” It’s like they’re adopting a stray dog, except she’s not a dog, she’s a beautiful woman with a life and a soul and they’re  _hurting her_ , bruises are coming out on her upper arms from Cephalo’s manhandling and her dress is ripped. 

Eretria hasn’t left her side yet and she doesn’t plan to. 

“I hoped you were the leader,” Blondie says. She ignores him. The disappointment in his eyes makes her want to puke. “Guess you were just the meat shield.” 

It’s decided they’ll keep her in the warehouse. Cephalo ties her to a metal chair, puts her in the very centre of the concrete floor where she can’t reach anything to get away. He threatens to break her legs one at a time if she runs and Amberle sneers at him in response. 

Eretria would have snarked something along the lines of, “If you break them, how will you spread them, pig?” but she’s never been the smartest girl in the room. 

“I’m leaving,” Blondie hisses, and Cephalo claps a hand on his shoulder. 

“If you leave, I’ll shoot you between the shoulder blades and leave your body to stink up the place for our hostage’s entertainment,” he says and Eretria believes him. Blondie’s eyes say he does too. 

Cephalo exits, leaving Eretria staring down the woman in the chair, Blondie by her side. 

“I preferred the strategy you used to recruit  _me_ ,” he says. 

“Who is that?” Amberle says. 

“He’s the new guy,” Eretria says. She slaps his hand when he goes to move the blindfold. “Do you  _want_  her to identify us?” 

“I don’t want any of this,” he says. “Meeting you was the worst thing that ever happened to me.” 

It feels like a stab in her chest and she turns to him. “Do you think I planned... th-this?!” She gestures at Amberle. “I didn’t. We don’t take hostages, we don’t  _kidnap people_ , let alone high profile city royalty like an Elessedil. I don’t know what he’s  _thinking_.” 

“He’s a sociopath,” Blondie snaps. “He probably isn’t thinking at all.” 

“What’s your name?” Amberle tries. 

“My friends call me Shot,” Eretria spits at her before Blondie can say something stupid. 

“Huh, I guess no one calls you that, then,” Amberle says. 

Eretria wants to hit her. She doesn’t do it. She tenses her jaw and looks back at Blondie. “What do you want from me  _exactly?_ ” 

“I want you to do something,” he says. “From the way you sold it to me, it sounded like I was joining up with a group  _you_  led. That didn’t kill and didn’t _kidnap_.” 

She snorted, rolled her eyes and looked away. “I don’t call the shots around here,” she says. “That’s my father.” 

“He’s your father?” Amberle says in disgust. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” 

Eretria spins around, storms over and grabs her by the hair, wrenching her back until the chair is precariously balancing on two legs, ready to drop back to the hard floor below. Someone squeals, but she’s pretty sure it isn’t Amberle. “Listen, princess,” she snarls down into her face. “I’m the best damn hope you have of getting out of here alive and—” She flicks her eyes down to the dress, ridden so far up Amberle’s thighs she can see her underwear. “—unscathed. So you better start showing me some damn respect.”

“Rover!” Blondie says. She realises he doesn’t know her name, otherwise he’d call her by it and ruin even more of her pitiful existence. 

“What,” she says, not a question. 

“You’re scaring her,” he says. 

She looks back at Amberle. Her jaw is set and her throat is tight. “No, I’m not,” she says. “She’s not afraid of me.” 

“Okay, well, you’re scaring  _me_ ,” he says, tone edging into pathetic. 

She resists the urge to release the chair and sets Amberle back where she was instead. The woman pulls at her restraints and Eretria glares at her and then at Blondie.  She stalks over, grabs him by the elbow, tows him away. “I’m going to try and get this  _sorted_ ,” she says. “Worst case scenario, we keep her alive and untouched until her family pays the ransom and we turn her over. She sees no faces, she hears no names, she gets no information.” Blondie meets her eyes, his own earnest and bordering on desperate. “Best case scenario I get this all shaken out and we let her go, somehow.” She cuts her eyes over to Amberle, then back at Blondie. 

“What do you want me to do?” he says. 

She looks him over a moment. “You look exhausted,” she says. “I want you go to out back and get some sleep.” She pulls a knife from her boot, turns it over and offers him the hilt, clutching the blade in her grip. “Put this under your pillow and if someone tries to hurt you, hurt them first.” 

“Even your father?” He takes the blade. 

“Especially my father,” she snarls. 

*** 

She drags a chair over, places it in front of Amberle’s, and sits, leaning back in it and watching the woman. 

Despite the blindfold, she still feels like she’s in a staring contest. 

“I’m Amberle,” the princess says after a moment. “And you?” 

Eretria snorts, slices an apple she found and puts a piece in her mouth. 

“I like your voice,” Amberle continues. “I heard it all the time when we were in the van. You’re... It’s nice. You don’t sound like the others.” 

Eretria doesn’t speak, so Amberle just keeps talking. 

“So that’s your father?” Amberle lifts her chin. “Must’ve been a tough childhood.” 

She looks across at the princess and considers offering her a piece of apple just to shut her the fuck  _up_. 

“And the other man I heard. He’s new?” When Eretria doesn’t reply she adds, “He doesn’t seem cut out for this kind of life, not like us.” 

Eretria snorts. “Like us, princess?” she says. “And what do  _you_  know about tough childhoods?” 

“I’ve been breaking rules since I can remember,” Amberle says. “And getting punished for it just the same.” She lifts her chin further. “I lost my father when I was young and my grandfather raised me. He told me I couldn’t do the things I wanted to do, that girls couldn’t be what I wanted to be.” 

“So what did you do?” Eretria says, curiosity peeking up from wherever she last stowed it away. 

“I did it anyway,” Amberle says. Her lips twitch in amusement. “My father would have been proud, I think.” 

“Must be nice.” Eretria slices more apple. 

“Doing what I want?” 

“Your father being dead.” 

Silence falls and Eretria slices more apple. Amberle finds new words, quicker than Eretria would’ve been able to. 

“However much you think you’ll get for me,” she says, “my grandfather will pay triple that if I ask him nicely. No ransoms, no demands, just me walking up to him and asking him to wire you money.” 

Eretria glances up at her. She stays quiet, but she stops slicing the apple. 

“You don’t have to keep working for him like this,” Amberle says. “I find it hard to believe you like it – him calling the shots, I mean.” 

She doesn’t speak. 

“All you have to do is get us out of here,” Amberle says. “We can take an Uber to my grandfather’s penthouse, and from there he can—” 

“—call the cops,” Eretria finishes for her. 

“ _Hardly_ ,” Amberle says. “He’d hardly call the police on my saviour.” 

Eretria snorts and slices apple. She stands up and puts the piece to Amberle’s lips and when she shies she snaps, “It’s  _apple_.” 

“I don’t know where your hands have been,” Amberle says and Eretria snorts. 

“Nowhere you’ll ever have the privilege,” she says, and walks across the warehouse to sit where she’s out of earshot for some peace. 

*** 

If Blondie slept badly, he doesn’t say so, but he looks as tired as he did when he left. 

“Did you have to stab my father?” Eretria says, looking up from where she’s thumbing through her phone. 

“Sadly, no,” Blondie says. “How is she?” 

“She needs the bathroom.” Eretria stands up. “I’ll take her.” 

“I appreciate that.” 

Whatever easy comradery they had before this incident seems to be back and Eretria lets out a breath of relief as she unhooks the bindings from the chair. “If you try anything, I don’t let you pee next time.” 

“Noted,” Amberle says and she behaves herself as she goes, Eretria leaning against a wall and not looking at her, even though Amberle has no way to know if she’s looking or not – or if she’s doing anything else. 

She latches her back to the chair and takes a step back. “Hungry? Thirsty?” 

“Are you going to wash your hands?” Amberle says. 

“Haven’t decided yet,” Eretria replies. 

A moment of silence passes and finally Amberle says, “Both.” 

“I’ll get you something.” Eretria leaves without any kind of fanfare and when she comes back, Blondie and Amberle are sitting, quiet. 

He’s doing better at being noncommunicative than she manages, she notes and provides the food. “I’m untying your arms so you can eat,” she says, “but if you try something we both stab you. He has one knife, I have the rest.” 

“Thanks,” Amberle mumbles and tucks into the food like she’s been starving. 

Eretria wonders if she’s ever really experienced  _hunger_  before. 

*** 

Cephalo sends the ransom out after a day of Eretria trying to convince him not to. On two four, she brings Amberle a new set of clothes and stands over her while she changes. “I suppose a shower would be too much to ask for,” Amberle says and Eretria answers with a snort. 

On the third day, she realises she hasn’t slept in that long, and although sleeplessness isn’t unfamiliar to her, seventy-two hours of unrest is a bit much even for her. 

“Can you monitor her?” she says and Blondie nods. “Don’t untie her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t do  _anything_.” 

Blondie scowls. “I’ve  _got this_ ,” he says.

“Don’t let my father be alone with her,” she says. She looks at him for a long, lingering moment. “I’m serious.” She holds a hand out towards him and on her palm is a disposable phone. “My number’s in there. I’m trusting you not to use it for something stupid. If my father—” 

“I’ll call you,” he says. He takes the phone, tucking it into his pocket. 

“Don’t let anyone catch you with that,” she says and leaves. 

*** 

If she sleeps at all, she doesn’t know it.  She tosses and turns, claws pillows closer and shoves them further away, stares at the ceiling until it feels like her eyes bleed and then stares some more. 

When her phone rings, she wants to be surprised. “He locked me out.” 

She’s at the door in a second flat, lockpicks in her shaking hands. “Move!” She shoves Blondie aside and shoves them into the locks. She’s not sure if she’s sure of what she’s hearing, if she’s imagining the sound of a belt unbuckling, but she’s positive she knows the sound of Amberle’s terrified screams for mercy and help. 

The lock clicks and she yanks herself back from it and kicks the door open, storming in and pulling a gun, pointing it at her father. “GET OFF HER!” 

Blondie is right behind her but she’s focused solely on Cephalo and Amberle. Her shirt is ripped and she’s on her back on the floor, still bound by the ankles and wrists. Cephalo’s pants are open, but not all the way. He draws up to his full height, turns slowly with a smirk lingering on his smug face. “What’re you gonna do, kid?” 

She flicks off the safety. “Get away from her.” She gestures with the gun. “Blondie, get her.” 

He skids across but Cephalo intercepts, he grabs him. “Leave her alone,” he says, laughter in his words, “she’s not gonna do anything.” He looks at Blondie and smirks. “You could have a go too, if you wanted.” 

Blondie looks like he’s about to throw up at the mere thought and Eretria steps closer, but only twice. She knows better than to let her gun come within anyone’s reach. “Up against the wall,” she says, gesturing with the gun. Cephalo doesn’t move. Blondie hauls Amberle to her feet, tucks her safe against his body. 

“What?” Cephalo says. “Are you  _fond_  of these two? Did they grow on that stone cold heart of yours? Do you want a pet princess for Christmas?” 

Eretria wavers, starkly aware that she has no play here. “I said get against the wall!” 

“Or what?” Cephalo says. “You don’t have it in you to shoot me, although I admire you spunk to point a gun at me to begin with.” He looks across at Blondie and Amberle. “She’s gonna be our big payday, kid. We can run away with that much cash. Start a new life wherever we want.” He looks back at Eretria. “Maybe somewhere in Greece.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” she says and holds the gun steady. 

Quick as a flash he’s grabbed Blondie. Amberle screams, nearly falls when his steady pillar of support is wrenched away. He pulls him to his chest, puts a knife to his throat. “Drop the gun,” he says. 

Blondie lets out a gasp of fear, hands raised, and looks across at Eretria. 

Amberle pulls her blindfold off and blinks hard in the fluorescent light of the warehouse.

“I said drop the gun,” Cephalo repeats. 

Eretria stands her ground, holds it still and pointed at his head. “Drop the knife,” she counters. 

“Kid,” Cephalo says, “he’s never gonna love you, not after all this. Neither of them will.” The knife digs into Blondie’s skin. “I’m doing you a  _favour_.” 

“A favour?!” Eretria snaps. “You’ve never done me one favour my whole life.” The gun wavers in her grip. “All you’ve ever done is take.” 

Cephalo drags Blondie’s head back by his hair. “She’s seen our faces now. She’ll have to die next, but not before we get paid. Drop the gun, kid, before you all have to die.”

 _Next_. 

Blondie’s never going to make it out of this alive, not now. 

Eretria points the gun at Cephalo’s head. “Final warning!” 

The knife cuts into Blondie’s neck, red glinting beneath the silver of the blade, and Eretria fires the gun. 

Cephalo and Blondie both hit the ground. Amberle lets out a scream and scrambles to check on them. 

Eretria stands, frozen in terror. 

“He’s alive!” Amberle screams.

“Yes, I am?!” Blondie says. He has one gloved hand pressed to his throat as he scrambles to his feet with Amberle’s help. It’s bleeding over his hand but it’s a trickle not a gush. Enough that Eretria knows if she’d waited even a second longer he’d be dead. 

She should’ve shot earlier. 

She looks down at Cephalo’s body and then across at Amberle. “You said triple.”

“I-I did,” she says, nodding. 

Eretria lowers her gun and takes a breath. “Looks like I’m calling the shots now, Blondie.” 

“The name’s Wil,” he says, meeting her eyes. “My name is Wil.” 

She hesitates, looking between him and Amberle for a moment. “Eretria.” She puts the gun away. “I’m Eretria.” 

“Let’s get out of here, Eretria,” Amberle suggests. 

“Then we can pick our next move.” 

Eretria looks across at Wil. He thinks all the doors are open now, but she knows better. More are closed than ever before. 

“You two go,” she says after a moment of hesitation. “Amberle will make sure you’re set up for med school. Only my fingerprints are on the gun.” 

Amberle steps forward. “We’re not leaving you,” she says, and Eretria looks at her in confusion. “We’re in this together now. We’re not leaving you alone.” 

She wonders how long that will last, and looks at Wil, who nods his agreement. 

“Then we need a plan,” she says, and steps across, sliding her knife between Amberle’s hands to cut through her bindings. “And a place to bury a body.”

**Author's Note:**

> Should I write more of this? I feel like Amberle and Eretria deserve some alone time. Let me know what you think!
> 
> (This is crossposted to Tumblr, over here: http://sixstepsaway.tumblr.com/post/166635967656/shots-a-eretriawilamberle-bank-robbers-au)


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